by Derek Hough
I was mortified, but I didn’t want to show it. So I smiled, pretended I wasn’t the least bit embarrassed, and did a 180, pulling my partner with me. I went right back into the routine, unfazed. Corky always taught me both to be quick on my feet and to think quickly. And if I screwed up, to cover my tracks.
LEADING LESSONS
Embrace your multiple personalities.
As a kid, I went back and forth between being a metalhead and a Latin dancer. A strange combination? Yes, but it showed me that I should never let one single thing define who I am. I am many things, many voices, many personalities. I try to embrace them rather than suppress them. There’s a time to be disciplined and there’s a time to let go. There’s a time to crowd-surf and a time to practice. The more variety in your life, the more color.
Sometimes I think we give ourselves a label: “I’m an accountant.” Or “I’m a mom.” Or “I’m a schoolteacher.” That isn’t all of you, just like dancing wasn’t—and still isn’t—all of me. Give yourself permission to embrace all the facets of you; it’s what makes you unique and special. We are who we tell ourselves we are. When I danced with Maria Menounos, she was known as an entertainment journalist and Extra host. But she was determined to prove there was more to her than meets the eye. So she took on Dancing with the Stars and added “ballroom dancer” to her résumé. That alone was impressive, but she wasn’t going to stop there. For years, she’s been a huge fan of wrestling and the WWE. She decided she wanted to do WrestleMania in Miami. Her agents and her managers were begging her to reconsider: “You’re not a wrestler, don’t do it!” Maria stood her ground: “I love it. I’ve always wanted to do it, and I am going to do it.” She got smacked but also smacked down her opponents. The woman is tough! She never lets herself get pigeonholed into one identity. She’s striving and seeking more—which is what leaders do. Don’t be afraid to call yourself many different names. I like being both Derek and Heavy D—and you ain’t seen nothing yet.
Lies always hurt.
Shirley made it clear to me that she would accept nothing but 100 percent honesty in our relationship. That slap across the face was an eye-opener. It made me feel that I didn’t need to sneak around behind her back. It gave me the freedom for the first time in my life to let go of my secrets. It’s a lesson that I continue to learn—if you lie, no matter how good your intentions, you carry the lie with you. It weighs you down, it holds you back, and you start to lose respect for yourself.
The biggest lies of all are those we tell ourselves. Every time you say, “I can’t do that,” “I don’t have what it takes,” “It’s too late,” or “I’m not good enough,” you’re keeping yourself from living your truth. This is always a tough one for me, and something I continually have to work on. Why do we lie to ourselves? Because a lie feels easy and comfortable. It keeps fear and pain away; it shields you from the unknown. But you deserve more. You deserve not to settle, not to be distracted, and not to deny yourself your highest potential. As the saying goes, “The truth shall set you free.” Be honest about what you want, what you need, and what you’re capable of. Tune out the negative voices in your head that hold you back. Change your mind, change yourself.
You create your reality.
Corky reinforced this idea for me. He believes that even when you’re not feeling on top of your game, you need to tell yourself that you are and put that image out there. It’s like shifting a gear from off to on. If you are not feeling happy or driven, then make an effort to radiate a sense of confidence. If you’re mortified that you screwed up a dance, pretend you’re proud and unfazed. It’s not self-deception; it’s creating your own reality. Put it out there in the universe and watch what happens. You begin to realize who you are is what you believe you are. Your personal perception of reality is determined by how you think and feel. Your thoughts and feelings create your attitude, and your attitude dictates how you act. We all have an incredible power at our disposal: the power to become what we think about. Visualize what you want. See it, own it, be it.
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REFLECTING ON DEREK
“I was never a dancer. My parents couldn’t afford recitals and other dance-related activities. On top of that, I was born with crooked legs and still have an awkward style of running to this day. And yet, with two broken feet and broken ribs, on Dancing with the Stars, I made it to the semifinals and beat the other finalists’ score. There was only one reason I was able to do it, and that was Derek. He is simply the best combination of choreographer, dancer, and teacher in the world. I don’t say that because he is my friend. I say it because it’s true, and if you don’t see it season after season on Dancing with the Stars then I don’t know what you are watching. Derek is a sensitive being, a creative genius, and a natural storyteller. When you incorporate those elements into teaching, along with the deepest knowledge of technique and craft, you can’t help but come out a winner.”
—MARIA MENOUNOS
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9
CHANGE PARTNERS AND DANCE
AFTER YEARS OF competing, all the times you’ve battled it out on the ballroom dance floor start to blur together. Only a handful really stand out in my mind—some because they were huge victories, some because they were huge disappointments. But as my coaches loved to remind me, you can never go back and do it over. You can only go forward and do it better. That’s the case in ballroom and in life.
I was back at Blackpool in the teen division, dancing with Leanne Noble and representing the UK. Out of the corner of my eye, during round 2 or 3, I saw this guy gliding across the floor with his partner. He had dark hair and he was bigger than me for sure. He was also a year older, which, at that age, was a lifetime. His dancing was so smooth and fluid, so controlled. I was fun and energetic, but I couldn’t match his quality of movement. I knew most of the competitors, but I didn’t know him, so naively, I didn’t see him as a threat. My coaches, however, were sweating.
“Derek,” Shirley warned me, “you’re going to lose this competition if you don’t pull it out.” I nodded and took a deep breath. I didn’t want my year’s training to go to waste. So I went out danced my ass off. We were all exhausted by the final round, but I kept my energy up. Even when the song finished, I kept going. I had the crowd chanting the team number on our backs. I was totally in the zone. I wasn’t even aware of what was going on around me—all I kept thinking was, “I got this. I won this finale.”
They started announcing results and I was pretty confident we were going to be number 1. They went from sixth place all the way down to second and I was still standing there, waiting for our name and number. Then I heard, “In second place, Derek Hough and Leanne Noble . . .” I was devastated. I worked so hard all year and I still lost. I collected my trophy, posed for pics, then came off the floor and cried like a baby. Of course, the Russian guy came in first. I went to the judges—I needed some explanation.
“I nailed that finale,” I told them. “Why didn’t I win?” One judge put it succinctly: “You’re right, you won the finale, but you didn’t win the competition. You’ve got to win from the first round, from the very first moment.” So I hadn’t shown consistency all day. Corky patted me on the back. “You have to treat each round as if it were your last,” he said. “Everything you do has to be 110 percent.”
After Leanne, I had a partner named Rachael Heron. She was from Liverpool, like the Beatles, and she was the best in the world in our age group at the time. Besides dancing, we started dating as well. And when I say dating, I mean I made her a blanket with her name on it, and she gave me a bottle of cologne. We walked around holding hands and kissed a little. Ah, young love. Being with her made me up my game, because she was better than I was. But her family was very intense. We’d be competing in a ballroom competition, and her mom would stand on the sidelines screaming, “Go on, Number 54!” like it was the final seconds of the Super Bowl. She’d also scream if I did something wrong—I mean really rip into me. I think she thought it was m
otivating. The truth? It made me feel like a loser, despite the fact that Rachael and I won all the competitions all over Europe—France, Italy, London, we took them all. We were kicking butt. Then, out of the blue, I got a phone call: “We no longer want to dance with Derek.”
They said “we” because it was basically Rachael’s dad that did the dumping. He called me, not her. I wanted to know what I did wrong, but the Herons were not going to elaborate. It was more, “Don’t call us, we’ll call you.” Click. It shook me up, and self-doubt started creeping into my mind. It was the first time I had to deal with someone breaking off a partnership. The Herons never said it, but the message was clear: “We think there is someone better than you and we want Rachael to dance with him.”
I wanted to crawl into a hole, I was so humiliated. “You gotta get back on the horse,” Corky told me. “No pity party. Prove them wrong.” So I got another partner, Heidi Clarke, and we began training. Coincidentally, she had been dumped by Rachael’s new partner, Rory Couper. We called ourselves “the Rejects” for a while and tried not to be too depressed. The American Open was coming up in Miami, and we had only a month and a half to prepare. Rory and Rachael would be there, and we had to show them up.
We went back to the States to train over the summer break, but I just couldn’t concentrate. To be honest, whenever I practiced in America, I never got as much done or had the same hunger or drive as when I was in England. But I pushed through it, and we went to our first competition, a small one in Las Vegas. Mark and Julianne were actually competing against us, and for the first time, they beat me. I was angry at myself that we lost, and I turned that anger on my friend and my sister. I was pretty rude and obnoxious about it. “How can I beat Rachael if I can’t even beat Mark and Julianne?” I whined to Shirley.
She looked at me with utter disgust. How could I not be happy for them? How could I not give them credit for what they achieved? “You’re behaving like a brat,” she scolded me. “Enough!”
But I was blinded by revenge; proving Rachel and her parents wrong was all I could think about. It consumed me. Mark and Julianne were relaxed and having fun on the dance floor. I was a ball of anger and insecurity. All of a sudden, dancing wasn’t for me or my partner; it was for someone else who wasn’t even in my life.
Shirley urged me to concentrate on the upcoming Open and forget about Rachael. I had to block it out and focus on the here and now. Easier said than done. At the time, dance competitions in America were very different from those in England. Here, it’s less about quality and technique, and more about showmanship and connecting with the audience. We worked hard and the day finally arrived. It was being shown live on TV, and there were cameras everywhere. The hotel was heaving with people—competitors from all over the world.
We walked onto the dance floor and I could feel the energy in the room. I saw Rachael and held my breath for a quick second. Heidi looked at me: “You okay?”
I nodded and took my position. “Here we go,” I told her.
As we started dancing, I felt run down. Maybe it was the Miami heat and sun (I’d been lying out by the pool the day before), but my stamina wasn’t where it should have been. I pushed through it, and we made it into the finals. But my lungs felt like they were going to explode during the jive. I could feel my heartbeat in my face. I gave myself a last-minute pep talk: “Go for it or go home.” My body was starting to shut down, but I kept kicking. When they called time, I was so exhausted, I practically crawled off the floor. We waited nervously as they tallied the results.
The announcer called sixth place, fifth place, fourth place, third place, and then second: “Rachael Heron and Rory Couper.” Heidi and I looked at each other. That meant only one thing: the Rejects were first! We were jumping up and down, hugging our coaches, flying around the floor like lunatics. I wanted to run over to Rachael and rub it in her face, but I caught myself. What was the point? The victory was not in beating my ex. It was in realizing that nothing could keep me down and no disappointment could ever destroy me.
When we got back to England, there was another big competition already on our calendar. That’s the way it is; you barely get a second to celebrate or breathe before it’s back to the practice hall. Some of the other dancers were catty about my win in America. I heard the whispers: “They only gave it to him because he’s American.” There was a camp that thought Rachael and Rory should have won instead. I tried to tune it out. I knew we weren’t technically the best or the most developed partnership, but I believed we had something more. My old training from Utah kicked in and I could hear Rick Robinson telling me to just work the crowd and be an entertainer: “Rip it up!”
We trained hard, for hours and hours every day. When we arrived at the competition, I felt good. I felt like we’d put in our time and we were ready to take this. Corky came over to us with some last-minute advice—he was a mastermind at the game. He pointed to Rachael and Rory. “Walk around the floor before you start to dance,” he instructed me. “Go over and give them a look, intimidate them.” Was this a dance competition or a fight in a boxing ring?
This wasn’t at all my style, but I did it. I wondered how Rachael felt now that the tables were turned. She had something to prove this time, not me. She was the one who needed to worry. During the first round, we were practically stalking them. Normally when you are competing against someone, you want a lot of space. You’ll be on opposite sides of the dance floor. But, no, I was right next to them the whole time. I wanted them to see we weren’t afraid to stand next to them. I knew that they thought they were better, but I wanted to rattle them. It also got the crowd stirred up: this was going to be a showdown on the dance floor.
On the break, my other coach, Graham Oswick, came over to me. “Stop doing that,” he said. “It’s enough. It’s not your time to win this. It’s their time.”
That made me furious: he just blatantly told me that I should give up and settle for second best. I went over and found Corky.
“That motherfucker!” he shouted. “Hell no, you’re not giving up! We’re going to intensify it. We’re going to defy him and everyone else.”
I could see he was pretty fired up. “Are you sure?” I asked.
He gave me a little push back onto the floor. “Do it.”
So we went back out there, guns blazing. Heidi and I danced our hearts out and made it into the semifinals. We were doing the jive and she accidentally elbowed me in the face. I tasted blood and realized I had bitten down so hard on my tongue, a piece of it was literally hanging off! Blood was pumping out of my mouth, but I kept on dancing. It was dripping down my face and all over my costume; I looked like something out of a slasher flick.
When we finally finished, Corky grabbed me and raced me upstairs to a little room where I could put my head back. He tried to stop the bleeding and brought me ice to take the swelling down.
I was lying there, trying to hold my tongue together, when I heard a voice at the doorway—a voice with a Liverpudlian accent.
“Derek, stay away from me!” Rachael demanded. “Stay on your side of the floor.”
I managed a weak thumbs-up and she stormed off.
“Can you hang in there?” Corky asked me. I nodded; I was afraid if I spoke my tongue would literally fall off. I changed my blood-soaked shirt and went back to the dance floor. We got to the finals, and I was still bleeding profusely. I didn’t let it stop me. In between each dance, I ran to the corner of the stage to spit out puddles of blood.
We didn’t have long to wait for the results. This time, they announced the winners first: “Couple number 72 from England, Derek Hough and Heidi Clark.” I ran onto the floor. I couldn’t believe it. Injury and all, we’d shown we were a force to be reckoned with. We were rejects no more.
LEADING LESSONS
Rejection is an illusion.
It’s all in your head. It was never about Rachael; it was always about me. So maybe I didn’t fit her picture of the perfect dance partner. We were no lon
ger a match—so what? At the time, the rejection hurt like hell and I threw myself a big ol’ pity party. But here’s the thing: No one can reject you. No one can dump you. It’s just a decision, and maybe you don’t like it. I was the one believing I was a victim instead of realizing how blessed my life was. If you’re feeling rejected, you’re looking at things all wrong. Just because someone says no, just because someone chooses another person over you, doesn’t mean you’re not good enough. There isn’t one successful person out there who hasn’t racked up his or her share of rejection.
That said, no one likes hearing no. But what are you going to do with that no? Are you going to let it destroy your self-esteem? Or are you going to keep pushing forward, following your passion? Dancers deal with a lot of rejection—I know this now, and I see the rejections as part of my journey. Keep doing what you’re doing and do it well—don’t worry about pleasing anyone but yourself. Sometimes that no can be a wake-up call, a chance for you to reassess, refocus, reboot. I’m grateful Rachael and her family gave me my walking papers. That rejection opened me up to so much more.
Competition shouldn’t be personal.
All the times I’ve focused on taking someone down, I’ve fallen short. Your motivation for winning has to be in the right place. Years ago, I was in a competition in London, and I really wanted to best this other couple. Why? So I could say I did. All I could think was, I’m gonna beat them. I’m gonna beat them. So I danced hard and frenzied, trying to overpower them. There was no control of my body, no light and shade in my dancing. My coaches pulled me aside: “What the hell was that?” I see now where I went wrong: I made it all about my competitors, when it should have been about my partner and me. I should have seen my competitors not as a target, but as a catalyst to inspire me to be better, stronger, and more in control. Instead, I made it a one-upping contest—and they wound up one-upping me.
